


Accident Waiting To Happen

by isitandwonder



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Armie x Timmy, Bondage, Breathplay, Charmie, Choking, Come Shot, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Lingerie, M/M, Omorashi, PWP, RPF, Rimming, Watersports, they finally talk, what even are those tags?, with a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-05 09:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13384971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: After a night out with too much booze, Timmy's having a small accident. Armie, as a good friend, helps him through it.





	1. There's A First Time For Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I have reasons but no excuses.  
> Listen, if watersports isn't your thing, please leave now.  
> I fear this will turn into a 5+1. Because I have ideas...
> 
> This is a work of fiction (and probably projection). Nothing like this ever happened - as far as I know at least.

The first time it happens, they are still in Crema. Filming has been underway for two weeks and they are slowly starting to take on the more intimate scenes between their characters.

Today, they shot the Piave memorial scene. The weather had been cloudy and Armie had suggested they'd do it in one take which turned out to be perfect. The blocking worked fine as well and the whole crew felt that they'd captured something special. As it was a Friday, it was decided that they all would all go to dinner together to celebrate.

35 people squeezed into a handful of cars and headed out to Lake Garda, where they'd filmed just a few days back, to descend upon one of the large trattorias scattered around the shore. There was food, and booze. And more booze: frizante, prosecco, wine, beer, grappa, espresso...

As Timmy had the next day off, he didn't hold back. He'd stayed sober for almost the whole week because his days started early and he had to learn lines and concentrate on his music and language skills. A hangover wouldn't help him with these. But tonight he allowed himself to indulge.

The scene had gone so well. He truly started to feel the connection between their two characters. And between him and Armie.

They sat next to each other on a wooden bench, their elbows and knees touching as they ate and drank and talked and laughed. It was easy. It was nice.

Armie was showing off his party trick, making vast amounts of alcohol disappear. And Timmy followed suit, despite being almost ten years younger, fife inches smaller and at least three stones lighter than his co-star.

By the time they had to leave, he was more than a little sloshed. They had been so deep in conversation that they hadn't realized that everyone was getting up and were caught by surprise when the boom operator shouted their names.

“Timmy, Armie, andiamo!”

They stumbled to their feet and into the car and only when Timmy found himself squeezed into the corner of the back seat, Armie's large body next to him, his knees almost hitting his cheeks in the tiny Fiat Punto, did he realize that he desperately had to piss.

Yet it was too late, the car jumped into gear and off they went, over bumpy country lanes and down rough and winding roads meandering back into Crema. Every chuckhole they hit seemed to directly assault Timmy's bladder.

He started to hug his middle and bend slightly forward, as if forcibly trying to hold it in. Soon, he felt his face heat up and his stomach cramp. His desperation must have shown because Armie looked at him a little cross-eyed and asked: “You alright, man?”

Timmy just nodded and turned his face away as if he was looking out of the window into the pitch-black night.

A few minutes later, they hit a rather huge bump and the car literally took a flying leap. To his utter embarrassment, Timmy briefly lost control. He felt a few drops of hot piss ooze from his cock, wetting the front of his boxer briefs.

'Fuck!' He thought, He hadn't pissed himself since he was five and had shared a six-pack root-beer with his neighbor, six year old Susanna Miller, who had gotten sick and locked herself in the toilet while Timmy had been hopping on one leg in front of the closed door until he couldn't hold it any longer. He'd run home, crying, and his mum had put him in the bath tub with his favorite Power Rangers and had explained to him that he didn't have to be ashamed. That evening, she and Susanna's mom had had a serious talk.

But now he was a grown man. It had been humiliating enough to wet himself as a little boy. How could he possibly survive such an accident now, especially with his co-star, an actor he hugely admired, sitting right next to him?

His face burned with shame. Timmy was glad for the darkness surrounding them.

“Hey, partner, you sure you're fine? You are not going to be sick, are you?” Armie asked again, his words a little slurred, his mouth almost touching Timmy's ear. Timmy jerked back and hit his head at the low top of the small car.

The shock and pain made him loose control again. This time it wasn't just a few droplets that escaped, no, it was a hot gush of piss soaking his underwear. He was wearing light blue jeans tonight. He knew that a damp spot must be showing at his crotch. 'Jesus', he thought, mortified, praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

His situation wasn't improved by Armie leaning over him, turning down the window to let in some fresh air. The movement pressed their bodies together and as Armie's shoulder hit his abdomen, he couldn't help himself as more piss was literally pressed out of him. His whole groin felt wet and a little sticky by now. He feared Armie would smell it. He also realized with horror that he started to grow hard.

Eventually, they pulled up on the central Piazza in the old town of Crema. Crew members clambered out of the little car and noisily said good night to each other. Armie followed suit, hugging and kissing good byes.

Timmy quietly got out at last, saying “Buona notte!” over his shoulder as he shoved his hands deep into the front pocket of his black hoodie, pulling it down over his fly to hide the dampness there. Just as he was about to make for a dark corner to finally relief himself, Armie was sidling up to him.

“Hey, man, wait for me.” Living in the same apartment building, of course they had the same way home.

“Armie... just, give me a moment.” Timmy pressed his knees together, his voice thin with desperation.

“What is it?” Armie sounded suddenly concerned. 

“I need to piss. Please, just...” Timmy couldn't finish his sentence. Suddenly, he was wrapped in a bear hug from behind. Armie literally lifted him off his feet before starting to tickle him in earnest, his large hands and deft fingers sliding below his arms and pinching his belly.

Timmy yelped, then shrieked.

“Armie... for god's sake... please...,” he almost whined, his face flushed with shame, but his cock twitched in his damp pants.

Armie only held him tighter., pinning his wrists to the small of his back. Timmy tried to struggle but froze when he felt warm wetness spread between his legs.

“Oh god... please, don't... please... Armie...,” he was almost crying by now but he couldn't stop, the urge to empty himself, to find release was stronger than his self control. Nature truly had conning ways to find his weakest spot; or Armie had.

He expected Armie to release him now, to step back, disgusted, hiding his contempt behind an embarrassed giggle. Well, only three more weeks, then they would probably never see each other again. Perhaps he would tell his wife that the kid he filmed with pissed himself right in front of him after a drunken night out and they both would laugh and shake their heads...

But Armie didn't let go. Instead, he breathed into Timmy's ear: “It's okay. Relax. Give it to me.” His left hand sneaked between Timmy's legs, cupping his hard cock through wet denim.

Timmy sobbed but couldn't hold back any longer. With a sigh, both born out of humiliation and relief,Timmy finally gave in to his body's needs, letting them overwhelm him.

Armie held him throughout, right beneath an old iron street lamp in the middle of Crema, as Timmy pissed himself, bend forward, choking out little moans as the pressure in his belly eased and subsided. God, this felt good! 

Especially as Armie massaged his half-hard cock while warm piss seeped through his fingers, darkening Timmy's trouser legs.

When he was finished, Armie outright grunted against the back of his neck before shoving Timmy against the next flat surface, crashing their mouths together. He tasted of garlic, peppers and grappa and Timmy willingly opened to his insisting tongue. His body almost melted against Armie's, who devoured his mouth while now both his hands were busy at Timmy's fly, freeing his damp erection. 

Timmy groaned into Armie's mouth when the cool night air hit his hard cock, pushing his own tongue in even deeper as Armie started to stroke him, fast and unrelenting. It only took a few moments until Timmy was outright panting, gasping for air as he shot his load all over Armie's fist. He lazily wiped it on the inside of Timmy's ruined jeans as they broke apart, grinning sheepishly at each other.

“So, this happened...” Armie chuckled as Timmy tugged himself away, fingers and legs shaking.

“You want me to...?” Timmy made a vague gesture towards Armie's crotch but he shook his head. 

“I'm not a teenager anymore and way too... pissed... to get it up right now.”

Timmy just grinned at the awful pun.

After a brief silence, Armie added, sounding astonishingly calm in the face of their lewd encounter: “Come on, let's go home. You need a shower.” He threw one arm around Timmy's shoulder and guided the trembling boy through the dark streets of Crema. His wet clothes stuck to Timmy's body but it wasn't an unpleasant experience.

He wondered if, in the morning, they both would just try to blame the booze for what happened; or feign loss of memory. But deep down, Timmy knew that he might have awakened something long buried, a monster that both of them were maybe not ready to deal with.


	2. Second Time Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, there'll be a little angst as they both try to come to terms with what has happened. Well, as it ends with them making out I think it's fine.

They don’t talk about it. Not when Timmy gets out of the shower while Armie has a nightcap on his battered couch. Not when Timmy puts a washing on in the middle of the night, sharing a bottle of Nastro Azzurro with Armie. And certainly not the next morning, when they all meet up for breakfast, their hangovers the perfect excuse for the silence between them.

Afterwards, it’s a day off for Timmy while Armie shoots a scene with Michael. He’d planned to drive to Milan but now he feels tired and washed out. Instead of a trip to the city he takes his bike and goes for a ride around Crema. The sun and fresh air help him to clear his head.

He’d slept poorly, tossing and turning, fearing to think about what had happened but also unable to stop thinking about what had happened. 

What had they done?

God, this was so filthy, so dirty, so depraved… and still, he'd enjoyed it. Well, that was the understatement of the century. He’d shot his load all over his fucking co-star as if he still was a horny teenager, almost blacking out from the intensity of his orgasm. And Armie had touched him while… oh god, he couldn’t even think about it!

What had _he_ done? He wasn’t like that. He knew about kinky stuff alright – handcuffs, spanking, blindfolds. He was from NYC after all! Once a girl had used her vibrator on him – which he’d liked very much – and another time a dude from college had tied him to his bed and dripped hot wax all over his chest and belly. That had been a little terrifying but still quite the experience…

Because those were _normal_ kinks. You don’t advertised those predilections but could still be quite sure that other people had done something like this as well. The internet was full of it. Whereas… touching one another while… _pissing_... Timmy shuddered in his sweat-damp sheets but to his horror he realized that he was getting hard again remembering what they’d done.

Suddenly, he understood much better the self-loathing Elio was experiencing after spending the night with Oliver, why he called himself sick…

Oh god! Timmy would have to film that scene with Armie. And the peach scene. After what they’d done they would have to roll around on set, naked, for days on end…

Timmy felt his stomach cramp but wrapped a hand around his stiff cock none the less, jerking off hard to the images of Armie’s large fist around his wet cock, the taste of his kisses and the look on his face just after Timmy came – awe, amazement, bliss.

When he finally came, it wasn’t as forceful as a few hours before but still his toes curled on the mattress. And, eventually, he’d been able to fall asleep.

Now he stops next to a field – being a New York kid, he has no idea what might be growing there but it looks pleasantly green – wiping his forehead before taking huge gulps of water from his bottle. Jesus, he's dehydrated. The thought lets his mind travel back to drinking, back to last night – **STOP!**

He has to forget about it! It's no use picking again and again on the matter like on an old wound, tearing off the scab to watch it bleed all over until it scarred.

Maybe Armie has forgotten all about it… he’d been totally whacked and barely made it back into his own apartment. And he hadn’t mentioned it at all – not even cracked a joke about it. Yes, he surely must have forgotten…

Which doesn't help Timmy to deal with the discovery of himself enjoying their filthy encounter, but that's something he can ponder when filming is over. For now, he has to sustain an open, intense chemistry with his co-star. It's simply impossible for him to withdraw, that would ruin the whole film. Luca has explained to him that all depended on their connection. He can't jeopardize that.

Yet, as he pisses against a tree on his way back to Crema, he wonders for a short moment, watching his urine splash onto the ground. If he's honest with himself he feels arousal mixed with revulsion watching himself. And if he thinks about watching Armie do this, perhaps even with aiding one hand to his cock, it's no one’s business but his own.

He’ll deal with it. One way or the other.

\-----------

After the third take, Luca takes Armie aside and gives everyone a little break.

“What’s going on?” He asks bluntly as everyone has cleared the set, in this case, Mr Perlman’s study in the old villa.

“Nothing…” Armie crosses his arms in front of his chest and tries to look away from the projection of naked Greek statues still thrown on the screen a few feet away. The old projector is buzzing behind him.

“Don’t give me that.” Luca’s voice is quiet but insisting. “You are not … how can I put it? You are not here with us today. Where are you, Armie?”

On a dark piazza, pressing Timmy against a wall while jerking him off, his piss dripping off my fingers. God, what had he gotten himself into?

Aloud he says: “Sorry, I’m just hungover. I know it’s totally unprofessional and I deeply apologize for wasting all your time and money and…”

Luca interrupts him with a snorted laugh. “Hungover? I’ve seen you drowning your own body weight in Vodka and still get up after two hours of sleep and deliver.”

“Well, we all get older…”

“You are barely 29, Armie.”

Armie stares down onto the polished wooden floor and shrugs. This will all be over soon. A few more weeks, and he can go back home to his wife and kid and forget that he made Timothée piss his pants before making him come. Suddenly, bile floods his mouth. That boy is barely legal and he introduced him to his darkest, filthiest fantasy.

He just holds a hand up as he stumbles outside and is sick against one of the peach trees.

Luca follows after a moment and hands him a bottle of water.

“Perhaps I’m coming down with something…,” Armie croaks after rinsing his mouth.

Luca looks at him, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he pads Armie’s shoulder. “Happens to the best of us.”

Ten minutes later, they resume filming. Now, Armie allows himself to imagine Timmy as one of those statues Michael talks about. It helps. A lot. He might have a boner when they finish filming, but at least Luca is satisfied and congratulates them both.

\----------

They literally bump into each other as Timmy returns from his bike ride, all hot, flushed and sweaty, while Armie strolls towards his apartment from set, rounding a corner.

“Jesus!” Armie hisses, avoiding colliding with Timmy’s bike only by inches.

“Sorry, man.” Timmy bites his lip, clutching the handle of his bike so hard that his knuckles turn white. They stare at each other and the moment stretches, lingers. They know that someone should say something, anything, but the words die in their throats. Timmy blushes even deeper. Armie doesn’t take his eyes off him.

Eventually, he remembers that he’s the responsible adult here. “Do you hate me?” He asks, his voice hoarse with shame. “Do you think I’m sick?”

Timmy swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and Armie has to look away if he’s not going to embarrass himself even more.

“No.” Timmy whispers, barely audible. “But I am.”

Armie’s head snaps up so quickly he might give himself whiplash. “Don’t say that.”

“But… what happened…,” Timmy can’t continue. He still clutches to his bike as if it is a life raft.

“I made you do it.” Armie says. “Please, if anyone’s to blame…”

“I liked it.”

There it is. He’s said the words he’d never wanted to say. He just has no fucking filters. Great for acting – bad for relationships.

“You liked it?”

Well, there’s no turning back now, is it? Timmy stares right into Armie’s eyes and says it again: “I liked it.”

A full body shudder runs through Armie as he blinks and licks his lips.

“Care to repeat it?” He asks, his voice low and full of dark promise. They are standing on a sunlit street in Crema in the late afternoon and discuss pissing onto each other. If it wasn’t his life right now, Timmy might have laughed out loud.

Instead, he breathes: “Yes.” He’s sure he can’t flush any deeper.

The next thing he knows, Armie is pressing him against the wall of their apartment building while his bike shatters to the ground. There’s a short moment of hesitation, Armie pinning Timmy’s arms above his head, his wrists scraping against the brick wall, their faces just hovering inches apart. 

Timmy can feel Armie’s hot breath tickle his skin and leans in, only to watch Armie retreat a little, keeping him at bay, staying just out of reach. He smiles, though, allowing one hand to roam down Timmy’s body, raking up his old, sweat-damp t-shirt to brush his fingertips over Timmy’s hard pectorals.

Timmy’s arms stay above his head despite having been freed. He’s surrendering completely.

“Please…,” he sighs and Armie’s grin broadens.

“Please what?”

“I need…” He can’t continue.

“Say it.” Armie’s hand presses lightly against his belly and Timmy squirms beneath the touch, arching up into it.

“Can’t.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“You can.” Armie tells him, suddenly so close again, nuzzling his neck, tasting the salt there with the tip of his tongue. 

Anyone could walk by any minute and see them.

Timmy swallows and swallows, his mouth suddenly gone dry, while Armie’s finger sneak beneath the waistband of his shorts, raking through the coarse hair between his legs but not quite touching where Timmy needs it. Badly.

When he bucks his hips Armie laughs against his skin. “Just say it.”

Timmy feels hot all over. His face must be burning. He strains a little in Armie’s grip, trying to writhe against his body, but Armie makes a dismissive sound and asks him again: “What is it you need, Timothée?”

“I need to piss.” He chokes out. He doesn’t, not really, having only drunk one bottle of water and sweating heavily during his bike ride but it’s the game they play. The humiliation, the shame, paired with sharp arousal flooding his body, the depravity of it… Timmy feels almost dizzy by now.

“Shall I help you with it?” Armie asks, his voice equally rough with need and excitement.

“Yes, please.” This is how Timmy breaks, slumping a little forward, but Armie catches him, tilting his head up with two fingers under his chin.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He says and Timmy can just nod, his limbs having turned into jelly.

When Armie gently guides him upstairs, his bike remains lying on the sun-soaked pavement, the rear wheel still slowly spinning.

\----------

They decide on Armie’s apartment, simply because it’s nearer to the stairs. Immediately as they crash through the door, they finally kiss, hard and bruising, grabbing as much of the other as they can reach until coming apart for air.

“How…?” Timmy starts but Armie just shoves him into his bathroom and outright manhandles him into the shower, pulling his t-shirt over his head while simultaneously pushing his shorts and pants down. Timmy almost loses his balance and trips over his own feet as Armie turns him around and presses him face-forward against the cold tiles.

“Can I?” He asks, biting Timmy’s shoulder, and Timmy has no idea what he means but agrees anyway.

“Yes, god yes.”

He can hear a plastic bottle being snapped open – conditioner? – before a slippery finger glides between his arsecheeks and starts to rub his cleft.

Timmy goes very, very still, outright rigid with panic. He’s never done this – not with a man. He doubts that girl’s vibrator was anything compared to what Armie brings to the equation. From all what he’s gathered so far, his co-star is really well endowed.

“Hey…,” Armie’s hand stills, his finger retreats. Timmy braces himself with his forearms against the wall and takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry, I thought…” Armie gently kisses the nape of his neck.

“It’s just…,” Timmy whispers into the crook of his arm, “…it’s so silly, but I’ve never… not really. God, I’m such a pussy.”

“It’s okay. Listen, I wasn’t…”

Timmy turns a little, glancing over his shoulder. “No?”

“No. Honestly. I just wanted to use my finger. Just one. Can I? I promise I make you feel good.” Armie nuzzles his nose into Timmy’s short dark curls. “Please?”

Timmy feels Armie’s hard, warm body pressing against his naked back. The man has been nothing but considerate and kind to him since the day they met. He trusts him with his acting. He thinks he can trust him with this as well.

“Okay.” Timmy breathes, and the finger returns, more gentle this time, pressing carefully against his opening, circling it. Armie’s other hand comes round to his front, grabbing his by now flaccid cock.

“God, I really spooked you.” Armie chuckles and Timmy snorts.

When the finger presses inside him, Armie whispers against his neck: “Relax. Just like yesterday. Just breath and let go.” The hand on his cock is slick with shampoo. It’s nice, despite the odd feeling of something pressing inside him. Not something – Armie.

Timmy grows harder as Armie touches him and his finger slides deeper. Suddenly, he curls it up inside him, pressing down, and Timmy sees stars.

“Fuck!” He gasps.

“I told you I’d make it good for you. Come on, give me what I want.”

Timmy swallows and tries to concentrate. Armie moves his finger again, rubbing that spot inside him insistently, and Timmy turns into a sobbing mess in seconds. He’s never felt anything like this.

Armie is still fully dressed in Bermudas and a polo shirt, and the idea of soiling his clothes is the thing that does it for Timmy in the end. He spreads his legs a little wider as he can feel the first splash of piss dribble from his cock.

“Fuck, yes.” Armie huffs against his shoulder, and Timmy would love to see him right now but doesn’t dare to move, as being entered still feels too strange. Yet, now as he’s started pissing he can’t stop it, and Armie holds him through it, subtly directing the stream back towards himself. Timmy can feel the fabric of his shorts that rub against his legs getting soaked in warm piss and moans.

“Yes, Timmy… oh god, yes.” Armie sounds almost high as Timmy wets his clothes, pushing his finger deeper while fondling Timmy’s balls. “This feels so good, please…”  
Armie angles his hips and Timmy suddenly becomes quite aware how hard he his, rutting against his bony hip.

Timmy’s bladder hasn’t been very full and soon the spurt of piss peters out. Now, Armie’s finger thrusts more insistently inside him while his fist closes around his semi-hard cock again, pumping it to full hardness within seconds. The feeling of Armie’s body still in his drenched clothes rubbing against him is so deliciously filthy that Timmy has trouble staying upright.

Armie’s hand is ruthless, speeding up until Timmy can feel his hole clench around his finger while his abdominal muscles spasm as he comes, shooting all over the tiles. Armie stills as well behind him, bucking his hips, and a moment later Timmy can feel something warm and sticky ooze against his skin. He moans Armie’s name while Armie groans his, strained and visceral.

During the shower they share afterwards, they kiss while Timmy slowly undresses Armie, his dirty clothes piling on the wet tiles. They lather each other in thick, creamy soap, taking their time to thoroughly clean each other before snuggling up on the couch together, Armie in an old terry-cloth robe and Timmy just wrapped in a large towel, snapping through Italian TV channels.

Timmy dozes off with his head on Armie’s shoulder while Armie watches a cooking show.

They still don't talk about it.


	3. Third Time's The Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Timmy mentioned watching Body Double with Armie and Luca in some acceptance speech, so I took this as inspiration for this chapter. It also features the bathroom scene with Armie pissing that started this whole watersports thing. I hope you enjoy my take on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely overwhelmed by the response to this story. Thank you all for commenting, kudoing and reading! I never thought this would get this huge but I'm so glad you all seem to like my little kinky drabbles. Love you all!

Over the next few days, they film mostly with Timmy and Esther. Armie hangs around on set for a bit but there are long stretches of time when Timmy has no idea where he is or what he's up to. They don’t talk except for casual chitchat and there are no signs that Armie is keen to repeat their previous… encounters.

Fair enough, Timmy thinks, trying to suppress his faint disappointment. Probably for the better. It had been intense and slightly disconcerting and they are colleagues, after all, professionals. They shouldn’t let this stuff come between them. It will only complicate things. As much as Timmy cherishes the immersive atmosphere on Luca’s set, immersing himself in the bodily fluids of his co-star wasn’t probably the best way to achieve becoming one with the source material.

The evening after filming the rather awkward sex scene between Elio and Marzia, they meet at Luca's, eating a splendid dinner before watching “Body Double”. Timmy is still a little keyed up from rolling around the grass with Esther – beautiful, funny, talented Esther – and perhaps talks a bit too much, too loud and even throws her the odd smoldering look which has her break out into a huff of laughter, almost snorting her wine.

Armie’s gaze flips back and forth between the two of them and if Timmy revels a little in the jealous pout showing on Armie’s face as the evening progresses it’s entirely his co-star’s fault for abandoning him – or starting this whole crazy thing in the first place. It was him who got the m both into this! Armie’s known for his pervy streak, after all. Timmy has looked up some old interviews over the last few days and discovered mentions of rough sex, hair pulling, bondage… well, shouldn’t have tried it on with him, should he? Never fuck the office.

During the film, Timmy sits next to Armie on one of Luca's grand sofas, sipping heady red wine while watching the classic erotic thriller. Yet it’s not Esther Timmy thinks about as the plot unfolds… 

When Gloria dances, he can sense Armie squirm a little but Luca gratefully ignores it as he explains the subtlety of the cinematography, a homage to Hitchcock. By the end of the film, Timmy just hears 'cock' every time Luca says something and it is decidedly not helping.

Armie is not even looking at him, staring a little drunk and obviously enthralled at the large plasma screen, his eyes glazed over.

Timmy leaves soon after the movie's over, bone tired, but still has a nice long wank in his bedroom, jerking of to memories of a young Melanie Griffith... It feels safe. It feels normal. And sometimes, normal is good. And when the blond woman morphs into a blond man just before Timmy climaxes… well, he’s not used to so much wine so he’s excused.

\----------

At the end of the next day, Luca spontaneously decides to film a short scene at the villa, just with Armie and Timmy. It's already getting dark but as the scene is set at night the fading light is not a problem. Earlier, they had shot Elio waiting in vain for Oliver, sitting in the garden. Timmy is therefore in a rather strange mood – he feels desolate and forlorn despite being surrounded by the whole crew.

He hasn't spoken more than ten words to Armie over the day and he suddenly fiercely misses him.

The scene is once again filmed in one shot. Elio sits at his desk, reading, a single lamp casting his half-naked body in warm golden light. When he hears a door slam, he sits up, then jumps onto his bed and pretends to sleep.

Enter Armie/Oliver. The door to the bathroom the characters share is kept ajar and Oliver, upon coming home from god knows where, uses the toilet, pissing into the bowl with a relieved sigh while Elio feigns sleep. Timmy wrinkles his nose but sneaks a peek and gets a nice eyeful.

The scene hits a little too close to home for his liking. Timmy can't help it, as he squeezes his eyes shut he imagines himself being drenched in Armie's piss, kneeling naked on the tiled bathroom floor. He can almost feel the warm liquid splash onto his skin, running down his body. Perhaps Armie would even aim for his face, his open mouth... Timmy has to turn on his side, away from the camera, to hide his massive boner.

Obviously, they can only do one take, as Armie has emptied his bladder completely.

“Traitor,” Timmy mumbles once, and then a second time, louder: “Traitor!” It’s not in the script but Luca likes it, putting it down as one of Timmy genuine improvisations.

When Timmy got dressed and has said good night to the crew, Armie is nowhere to be seen. He probably has already left, getting dinner somewhere... Timmy strolls back to his apartment, feeling wrung out from another long day of filming, mustering the openly displayed vulnerability Elio demands from him.

He seriously wishes he could just talk to Armie about his feelings, confess how raw this role leaves him. Yet, apparently, Armie has better things to do than to spare some time for his young, inexperienced co-star. Fair enough, Timmy thinks... perhaps he expects too much. He's never had an on-set romance – if you can call what they have romance – so he doesn't know the rules. And he doesn't want to come over as needy or clingy kid. He’ll deal with it.

When he arrives back at the flat he calls home for this summer he shortly debates if he should take just water or a beer from the fridge but decides quickly on the beer, hoping that the alcohol will make him numb and allow him to sleep. It had been hard the last few nights, despite his tight schedule. 

He cracks a bottle open and wanders off into his stuffy bedroom to open the windows and let in the cool night air. When he steps over the threshold, however, he stops dead in his tracks – because on his bed lies a black velvet bodice and a pair of shiny black tights. There's a note attached to the garments.

'Put this on. Then send me a pic. A.'

Timmy's hands shake as he feels the delicate fabric between his fingers, the smooth velvet, the silky tights...

He puts his beer down onto the nightstand and quickly takes his t-shirt and gray sweatpants off. There’s no hesitation. He doesn't even argue with himself if he should do this or not.

He nearly tears the tights as he tries to pull them up. The material clings to the hairs on his legs and it itches uncomfortably. He also didn't take his briefs off and ends with an ugly knot of clothes between his legs. It just feels ridiculous and definitely not sexy at all.

This is not working. He takes a deep breath before pulling the tights off again, grabs his beer and walks over into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, he truly admires his mother and sister for going through this routine every other day but at least he succeeded in shaving his legs and groin without cutting himself. He even applies some sun tan lotion to calm his irritated skin.

When he pulls the tights up again, they slide easily over his smooth skin, girding his bare groin, pressing his cock firmly against his pubic bone. Timmy's already half-hard, and his straining cock looks delicious beneath the transparent fabric, even to him. The tip makes a wet spot on the spandex and Timmy has to fight the impulse to palm himself.

The black bodice is soft, hugging his chest and slim waist tight, cupping his buttocks. The thin spaghetti straps cut into his pale shoulders. It feels strangely arousing. Timmy’s hand strokes the sleek fabric down to his belly, and he sighs a little, biting his lower lip as his hips gyrate, his cock aching to be touched.

He brushes an errant curl back behind his ear and takes a picture, sitting on the bed, his legs crossed modestly. The second pic it not so innocent, however, showing him lying back, one hand pinching his left nipple through the velvet, his long legs pulled up and slightly parted...

He hits send and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long. After about three minutes he can hear his apartment door open and shut. He still lies on his bed, his head turned towards the bedroom door, and licks his lips in anticipation, his heart hammering in his chest.

He knows he must look a little debauched, trussed up like that, but he's still not prepared for Armie's look of pure, heated want when he enters his bedroom. He stops just inside, raking his eyes over Timmy's body, and Timmy feels his skin prickle all over.

“God, you look stunning.” Armie says, his voice low and hoarse. “I couldn't stop thinking about how you would look in it when I bought it. I rubbed one out just this afternoon, fantasizing... but this is so much better.” Armie's cheeks are burning as he slowly walks over to the bed. Timmy follows him with his eyes, his breathing speeding up.

The mattress dips as he sits down. A gentle hand carefully runs up Timmy's shaven calve, cupping his bony knee before sliding up higher... and higher until Armie's fingertips brush his velvet-covered groin. Timmy arches up into the touch, sighing as his eyes flutter shut.

“Hey, look at me.” Armie’s palming Timmy’s already hard cock. “You are already so wet…” His filthy words shoot through Timmy’s body like fire, making his cock twitch against Armie’s hand.

“Do you like me like this?” He asks, looking up at Armie from under his thick dark lashes.

“Very, very much. You are so beautiful, Timmy. You have no idea what you do to me.”

Timmy smiles. Actually, he has a pretty good idea as his gaze drops down to Armie's crotch.

“Fuck me, Elio.” He whispers on a sudden whim, and Armie groans and pulls him up with his strong arms, literally sitting him in his lap. As he pushes his tongue into Timmy's mouth Timmy sucks on it till Armie moans “Oliver”, his huge hands spanning Timmy’s narrow waist.

“You kill me if you stop.” Timmy breathes, mouthing down Armie’s jaw, grating his smooth cheek against Armie’s golden stubble.

“Jesus... just, let me get out of these...” Armie already pulls his sweater over his head before literally ripping his belt out of its loops. Timmy scoots back a little so he can drop his trousers. When he's naked, he pulls Timmy back on top of him straddling his muscular thighs. Armie’s cock is red and leaking, pressing insistently against Timmy's groin, tugged away under two layers of by now too tight fabric.

Timmy ruts against him nonetheless, watching mesmerized as Armie's hard cock coats the black velvet between his legs with pearly streaks of precome.

“I can smell you.” He whispers against Armie’s mouth before pushing his tongue back in. Their kiss is almost brutal.

“God, Timmy...” Armie's hands are everywhere – in his hair, around his waist, on his arse. Timmy never has seen him so turned on. It's intoxicating.

Armie sucks at his neck, probably leaving marks but Timmy doesn't care. Then he pulls Timmy’s arms above his head and holds them there in a death grip while licking broad wet stripes up Timmy’s armpits. It tickles and Timmy has to laugh until Armie bites down and his giggles turn into a gasp. 

“I want to piss on you. Is that all right?” Armie mumbles against Timmy’s sensitive skin, nosing the sparse dark hairs fanning out over white skin under Timmy’s left arm.

Timmy just makes a guttural sound deep in his throat and nods.

“I saw you watching me, earlier, when we shot the scene. Did you like it, what you saw?”

“Yes.” Timmy breathes. He can as well be honest. The things they've done together allow for him to give Armie as good as he gets.

“Did you think about me... how it would be, if I would... do that with you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh god.” Armie groans and pulls Timmy down, hard, rubbing his cock between Timmy’s Nylon-covered thighs until they are both moaning with the need for more.

“Get down. On the floor.” Armie gently lifts Timmy and lowers him carefully onto the polished wooden floor. Timmy crouches in the vee of Armie's spread legs, sitting back on his heels, pushing his chest out before invitingly opening his mouth.

Armie's so hard he has to pinch the base of his shaft to be able to do as he's promised.

When the first hot splash of piss hits Timmy's chest, he wants to recoil. The scent is sharp and bitter and this is suddenly so utterly filthy that he wonders how on earth he could ever agree to this.

But then Armie directs his spurt down between his legs, and suddenly it's all warm and wet and oh god so good that Timmy thinks he might come on the spot. His trapped cock twitches enthusiastically, straining against the tight clothing trapping it.

As he moans and sighs, Armie dares to get bolder. He moves the spray up over Timmy's body again, aiming for his neck before teasingly allowing the hot stream to graze Timmy's chin. Timmy instinctively closes his mouth but moves a little forward none the less. He's curious, but... can he really do this?

Without much thought, he allows his tongue to dart out a little and lick his chin. Now it's Armie who moans, deep and wantonly.

“Can I? Please?” He’s almost begging Timmy, holding back the last few drops, his face contorting in agony as he tries to control himself.

Timmy tastes him, salty, tangy – but not unpleasant. As an answer, he lets his mouth fall open while he closes his eyes. Armie groans as he finally floods Timmy's mouth. It's too much, and Timmy's not used to the flavor, so most of it drips down his chin and throat, soaking the velvet body even further, but watching Timmy trying to swallow is enough for Armie to jerk off in earnest once his bladder’s empty. 

It only takes a few rough pulls before he comes, shooting all over Timmy's wet, still upturned face. Timmy’s eyes fly open as he tries to catch as much as he can. Armie watches enthralled as he coats that angular face in thick white streaks of his semen.

Eventually, he's spend and drops back onto his back. Now it's Timmy's turn and he doesn't waste time. He straddles Armie's lap again, rutting against his thick thigh for a moment but then stops with a wicked grin on his come-coated lips. Bowing down to kiss Armie deep and languidly, he presses his own still trapped cock against Armie's spend erection.

Armie sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive but when he feels wet velvet rub against his groin, he just sighs and writhes a little beneath Timmy, tasting his own come and piss on his lovers tongue. His beautiful, drenched lingerie is glued to his lean body and it’s hard to tell if he’s a man or a woman or something ethereal in between. Armie wants to devour him, wants to utterly wreck him, ruin him for everything and everyone else but has the suspicion that it’s actually the other way around.

It's too much. As Timmy starts to thrust against him in earnest another, much weaker orgasm shutters through Armie's body. Timmy comes as well, throwing his head back and Armie pulls his hair until it's over and Timmy slumps down against his chest.

“Jesus...” He huffs.

“Good god.” Armie agrees. 

They just lie there, one atop the other, trying to get their breathe back.

“Did you seriously shave your legs?” Armie asks after a while.

Timmy can just nod in response.

“Fuck, this is hot. Show me?”

Timmy nods again.

Armie gently rolls them over and sits up. He carefully pulls the wet bodice down Timmy's torso, kissing every inch of exposed damp skin. Timmy’s come is pooling between his legs, held inside the pantyhose and when Armie sucks on the fabric he can taste him, sweat and musky.

He takes his time to roll the soiled tights down, exposing milky smooth skin beneath black Nylon, sucking purple marks to the inside of Timmy’s thighs as the boy chants his name, his long fingers clawing into Armie’s hair.

Armie lets his tongue travel over Timmy’s legs and doesn’t stop until he has sucked on each and every of his ten toes and Timmy is begging him to stop for fear of dying prematurely of a heart attack, his voice hoarse and broken.

They shower and turn the mattress over before they fall asleep together in Timmy's soiled bed.

Armie briefly wonders how to explain the love bites down Timmy's throat and his hairless legs tomorrow on set but then the make-up artist really likes him so they'll probably be fine.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of the wonderful things that you get out of life there are four.  
> And they may not be many but nobody needs any more.  
> Of the many facts making the list of life,  
> Truth takes the lead.  
> And to relax knowing the gist of life,  
> it's truth you need.
> 
> Then the second is honor and happiness makes number three.  
> When you put them together you know what the last one must be.  
> Baby so that's truth, honor and happiness  
> and one thing more,  
> meaning only wonderful, wonderful love that'll make it four.
> 
> \- Geroge Benson -

Luca has some kind of meltdown on set the next day. They start the blocking on the first sex scene between Elio and Oliver and as soon as Timmy gets out of his sweat pants Luca has the set cleared and shouts at them for five minutes straight – in Italian.

Timmy is profoundly blushing by the end of it while Armie just gets the occasional “stronzo” and “stupido”.

Luca eventually switches to English: „Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? What do you think you are doing here? A sex holiday? This is work! Work! What have you done?“

And he hasn't even seen Timmy's almost purple neck thanks to some camouflage applied by Fernanda. She'd looked between the two of them when Timmy had removed the scarf he'd worn around his neck, shook her head, chuckled, and set to work.

Now, Timmy is just staring down at his naked feet, hunching his shoulders like a kid being told off by his teacher. Armie remembers that this is Timmy's first lead part, that he's probably not used to directors' freaking out, not the way he is by now, that he's afraid he's ruined everything – the film, his career - so he steps forward and holds up his hands, effectively placing himself between Timmy and Luca.

„Listen, sorry, but you said we should immerse ourselves in the story, that we should feel it. Well, we do.“

Luca is by now raking his hands through his hair while pacing the bedroom.

„Armie, for god's sake, don't you understand? This is a work of art...“

„You wanted honesty. That's what you told me. So, here I am, honest. And let me tell you: I want him. Did you get that? I want him.“ Armie half turns and points at Timmy, who swallows hard, his huge eyes glued to Armie but biting his lips as if to suppress a grin.

Luca throws his hands up in the air. „This is insane!“ He shouts.

„Well, fuck it! So what?“ Armie yells back and suddenly Luca bursts into laughter. Armie joins him a moment later and at last Timmy can't hold it together anymore as well and sinks onto the bed behind him, clasping his sides as he almost doubles over.

Luca wipes his eyes. „Okay, but we have to keep this under wraps.“ He gestures between them. „I don't want to know what happened to Timmy's legs but I also don't want to see something like this again. What you do in your spare time is your business. But don't jeopardize this film. Because you are both a revelation and I want the whole world to see it.“

Armie and Timmy, now calmer, exchange a glance and nod.

When the crew pours back in, Luca takes Armie aside.

„And your wife?“ He asks, almost casual.

„Liz? What does she have to do with it?“

Luca frowns. „That boy is head over heels for you. But in a few weeks, you go home to your family. I don't want him to suffer.“

„He won't.“ Is all Armie replies before shedding his dressing gown and getting into bed with an equally naked co-star who looks at him as if he's hung the moon. Is this already Elio or still Timmy? Is there even such a distinction anymore?

The next few days are exhausting – physically and emotionally. They spend so much time together in bed, starkers, rubbing their private parts against each other while 20 people watch that it feels much more intimate to share a pizza and a bottle of wine afterwards in the evening and just talk than to continue making out.

They show each other their movies, sitting on the couch in one of their apartments, not even touching, explaining instead what moved them, what made them laugh, what made them cry, why they took the role, sharing on-set gossip, pointing out lapses or were they slipped up.

They both discover new facets of each other they hadn't been aware off before.

The fine hair on Timmy's legs grows back and suddenly it's time for the production to move to Bergamo for a week.

Armie knows it's his last week on set. Timmy knows as well. Neither mentions it.

In Bergamo, they stay at a small hotel. It turns out Luca had a double room booked for them. No one remarks on it though by now the whole crew must know. Yet no one seems to mind or care.

But the tension on set rises. There's more and more talk about what people will do next when this is over. There's a finality to everything: Last rehearsal, last espresso in this cafe, last dinner in this restaurant, last time walking up that street and so on. It's draining.

When they film Oliver's and Elio's final kiss, Timmy gets so wound up that he punches the wall next to Armie's face when Armie doesn't respond the way he wants or needs. They don't talk about it but Armie knows that Timmy is close to collapsing. 

Luca looks at them both with concern in his eyes but seems to trust them to figure it out on their own.

Armie knows that something is expected from him but he's not sure exactly what.

When they arrive at their hotel that night, tired and a little numb, Armie doesn't drop dead onto the bed like he did the previous nights. Instead, he watches Timmy dragging his sore body into the bathroom and listens to the water running for a very long time.

When Timmy finally emerges, flushed pink, his hair wet and even darker than usual, he has a towel around his slim waist and another around his shoulders.

“That took you a while. I thought you passed out in there.” Armie jokes lamely, uncertain in the face of Timmy's obvious tiredness. He looks outright haggard, hovering on the threshold, the cold light from the steamy bathroom surrounding him like a foggy halo.

Timmy just shrugs in response, still not moving. “What...” He starts but then his mouth snaps shut and he just frowns, staring at the wall above Armie's left shoulder.

“Yes?” Armie is shocked how soft his voice has turned.

“Nothing.” Timmy says, a thousand miles away.

“Tim.”

The silence stretches.

“At least put something on. You'll catch death if you keep just standing there.” Armie looks around and then throws a hoodie – his own – at Timmy.

Timmy catches it but instead of pulling it over his head he buries his face in it and inhales.

“Timmy, please, tell me what you need.” Armie is now standing in front of him, so close that he can see water dripping from Timmy's hair, running down his long neck. There's a dusting of light freckles below his left ear. Armie wants to map them with his tongue.

Timmy doesn't looks up, just shakes his head, his face hidden in the gray cotton of the sweatshirt. It's too much. Armie has to see him, has to look him in the eyes, has to make sure Timmy's okay. So he grabs a fistful of damp curls and pulls, hard.

When Timmy's head jerks upwards with a surprised gasp his eyes are red-rimmed. Fuck! Armie pulls again, even harder this time, straining Timmy's neck until the tendons stand out under pale, wet skin. 

“Don't you dare! Don't you dare.” Armie hisses before pressing him back against the wall next to the bathroom door. The hoodie slips from Timmy's hands, falling to the floor. No one cares.

Timmy stares back at Armie in silent defiance, teeth bared in quiet furor. Something twists in Armie's gut and just like that, he knows. Timmy has been reeling, unmoored for the past few days, looking for guidance, waiting for Armie to take control like he always did before. God, he's been such an idiot! Timmy must be thinking that he pulled back after Luca's scolding, despite his words of reassurance.

“So this is what you want.” He says more to himself than to Timmy, watching his Adam's apple bob in his deliciously long throat. The love bites have faded. Armie wants to mark him again, claim him, but in a different, even more intimate way, showing all the world what they have between them, the trust they share, what Timmy will let him do...

With one hand still in Timmy's hair, he wipes the towel from Timmy's shoulders, exposing more smooth skin, still almost alabaster despite the Italian sunshine they lounged in for weeks. He grazes the skin with just his fingertips and Timmy shivers, goose-flesh showing in the wake of Armie's touch.

Timmy's collarbones stand out, a sharp ridge above his flat chest, reaching to bony shoulder joints. He's so thin, so frail, his body not even decidedly male but almost androgynous, delicate, but there's a determined strength in him that allows him to offer all this up to Armie. 

Timmy's breathing is speeding up, now that Armie touches him, his pulse visibly hammering in his throat, his eyes large and unblinking. There's no doubt, no hesitation; it's outright provocative.

When Armie's free hand closes around his throat, his eyes flutter shut.

“No. Look at me.”

As Armie's hand tightens, Timmy's strange, fathomless eyes open again, meeting Armie's heated gaze with curious anticipation.

Timmy's neck feels fragile and vulnerable under Armie's fingers. His hand is so large that it easily spans the delicate throat. He could just squeeze Timmy's windpipe shut, crush his hyoid bone...

It takes about thirty seconds before Timmy's face starts to darken, his mouth falling slightly open. His arms hang by his side, limp. He could still say stop, could push Armie away, but he doesn't. 

His lips start to tremble, changing color, as he starts panting in Armie's choke, fighting for air. Armie feels his throat muscles move under his palm and only squeezes tighter.

Armie senses the point when the asphyxiation starts to shut down Timmy's body. He goes hypotonic, dangling in his strong grip like a rag doll. A vein pulses at his temple and his eyes start to glaze over as they protrude from their sockets, still staring back at Armie with an expression somewhere between fear and wonder.

“Let go.” Armie whispers. “Let go and I will stop.”

But Timmy is almost past control anyway. He's still wearing a towel around his waist so it takes a moment for Armie to realize that piss is running down Timmy's trembling legs, pooling on the floor around his naked feet.

Armie releases Timmy's hair to pull away the towel and watch. Timmy's long slim cock is half-hard, the hair around it still only short, a soft dark fur surrounding his dusty pink shaft, straining slightly upwards now that he's freed.

Almost translucent piss is gushing from the slit and Armie takes a step to the side as to not being hit by it. Timmy makes a choking sound, his throat convulsing in Armie's grip, and Armie can't decide if he wants to stare at Timmy's contorted, purple face or his pulsing, leaking cock.

For a second, Armie allows his brain to supply him with images of Timmy kneeling on the floor, his face pressed down into the puddle of his own lukewarm piss, his tongue darting out between his red lips, eagerly, willingly lapping his own urine up to please him...

Another spurt of piss splashes onto the floor as Timmy balls his hands into fists, bucking his hips slightly forward. Armie understands and grabs his cock, fisting it hard and fast. It swells instantly, twitching in Armie's hand, hot and wet and sensitive. Timmy tries to moan but all that escapes his mouth is a chortled keen turning into a gurgle as he comes after just about ten seconds, shooting his load all over Armie's hand, almost hitting the opposite wall.

Armie immediately releases his throat, catching Timmy just in time as he threatens to slump onto the floor and into the mess he's made. His come-covered hand is pressed against Timmy's breastbone as he guides him over to their bed and carefully lays him on top of the comforter.

His sticky hand starts to draw milky patterns onto Timmy's chest until he's got his breath back. There are purple marks around his throat, just like Armie hoped there would be.

“Are you with me?” He asks, and Timmy coughs and nods.

“Say something.”

“Yes.” Timmy rasps, his voice hoarse, and suddenly Armie knows what he wants.

He toes of his shoes, then takes off his shirt and trousers and straddles Timmy's chest, pinning his wiry arms to his sides. Armie's cock is so hard he feels he might burst any minute, jutting out proudly in front of him, now just two inches away from Timmy's face.

“Open.” He says, almost and order, and Timmy, wrecked and exhausted and barely conscious, lets his mouth fall open, his jaw slack from his own orgasm.

Armie's always had it hard for Timmy's mouth. He loves touching it with his fingertips, his tongue. Now he rubs the oozing tip of his cock against Timmy's lower lip, painting it in clear precome until Timmy's lazy tongue darts out to taste him and presses lewdly against his slit.

It's too much, Armie simply can't hold back. He knows he should go slow and gentle but as he slides inside Timmy's hot, wet mouth all his good resolutions fly out the window. He pushes deeper and deeper until he meets resistance. 

Timmy seems to panic a little as Armie's cockhead hits his soft palate, threatening to cut off his air supply again while at the same time stimulating his gag reflex. They lock eyes and Armie seeks for permission, his hands holding onto either side of Timmy's face. Timmy struggles a little before he blinks and swallows, and that feeling is almost enough to drive Armie over the edge.

As he can feel Timmy relax beneath him, opening his throat, he thrusts, just a little. Timmy is drooling and choking by now but doesn't fight him as he takes him in, and he's so fucking beautiful that Armie can't stop his toe-curling orgasm and spills down Timmy's throat a moment later, flooding his mouth with come. 

Timmy swallows and swallows, his throat contracting around Armie's cock and it's delicious, exquisite; it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

When it's over he quickly pulls out and drops to Timmy's side, holding him from behind as Timmy turns and coughs and splutters, come and saliva dripping from his swollen lips. Armie gives him a moment before he flops him over and pushes his tongue inside Timmy's mouth, tasting a faint trace of himself there.

They lie on the bed for a long while afterwards, just breathing, Armie holding Timmy, stroking his arm, his sweaty side.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, just because he wants to hear Timmy's ruined voice again. He's not disappointed when the answer comes out in a raw whisper.

“Me okay.”

Armie presses a kiss to Timmy's forehead and holds him a little closer.

“Next time you need something like this, just ask. Don't... I don't know... sulk like a stubborn teenager. I can't read your mind.”

“I didn't sulk. And I'm not a teenager.”

“Yes, you did.” Armie smiles against his skin. “You can ask for it. For anything.” He says a little quieter.

“Not for long, though.” Timmy retorts, almost inaudibly low. Armie feels sucker-punched.

“Hey, I promise...” But what can he promise? What does he have to offer? “I will make the next time special. Very special.” He holds Timmy in his arms, tenderly stroking his nape.

“The next time... You mean the last time.” Timmy carefully yet resolutely entangles himself and sits up, bringing one hand to his throat. “This hurts. I need something to drink.”

Armie doesn't stop him as he puts on his sweatpants and a t-shirt before leaving their room. 

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, lying on his back, wondering how on earth he ended up in this mess. He knows that he'll have to face some very ugly truths in the near future. After a glance at his watch, he decides that now is as bad as any other time to call his wife and have a serious talk.


	5. Take Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie has his last day of filming which calls for something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Won't you stop and take_  
>  A little time out with me  
>  \- Take Five -

They film at the train station the next day. It's Armie's last scene and when Timmy presses his hand against his own throat as if choking on unspoken words it almost floors Armie, knocking him completely off-kilter.

He didn't come back last night. Armie has no idea where he stayed or if he slept at all. He looked like shit at make-up this morning so perhaps he didn't.

A void is opening between them and Armie feels unable to bridge it. He has no words and every gesture seems too shallow.

Talking to Liz last night did help a little. He didn't outright confess what had happened – did he have something to confess? - but Liz knows him and understood that something profound was going on. They'd talked about Timothée before, Armie praising his talent (and, yes, to some extent his looks and beauty) but not like this.

Armie had told his wife that he was confused, that things were changing, that he didn't have control over any of it, that he could neither explain nor stop what was going on. She had listened, had given him room, and in the end told him that he should try to figure it out. That it seemed to her that he needed closure, needed to be certain, that he should take his time...

So, today, Armie brings all his confusion to the scene, his insecurity, his dread. As renting a train is fucking expensive – Luca's own words – they juts do one take. 

When Armie holds Timmy, he can feel him tremble. His shoulders are tense beneath that too large blue shirt he's wearing.

Armie doesn't want to but he has to get into the carriage. As the train pulls away, he feels both relieve that it is over and devastation that he has to leave. He's glad that he's alone in the compartment and no-one witnesses as he slumps into his seat and has to pinch the skin between thumb and forefinger hard to keep it together.

He returns to set when they are shooting the scene in which Elio calls his mom to get him. Watching Timmy break down on the phone is too much. Armie sits on the ground behind the station, hiding behind his dark sunglasses and waits for filming to be over.

He knows he could go back to the hotel as he's finished for today but he also knows that he wouldn't be able to set foot in their room alone without loosing it completely.

So they all return together at the end of the day and Armie allows himself to be swept away by the loud and friendly Italian crew. When he tries to catch Timmy's eyes he looks away. talking to Sayombhu instead.

Armie sighs as he gets into one of the cars and stares silently out of the window during the whole drive. This all had started in a fucking car only a few weeks back. What the hell has happened to them in between?

When Armie arrives at their hotel, Timmy is climbing the stairs in front of him and unlocks their room without even looking back over his shoulder.

'Where have you been?' Armie wants to ask as soon as they step inside.. 'Why didn't you call? Why are you avoiding me?'

But Timmy beats him to it as he finally turns and faces him, eyes still swollen from all the crying he had to do on set.

„You were amazing today. I wish one day to be as good as you were in that scene.“

This simple, honest praise knocks all the air out off Armie. He slumps down onto the bed, staring up at Timmy in a mixture of gratitude and disbelief.

„You already are. In fact, you are so much better than I will ever be, Timothée Chalamet.“

A smile spreads on Timmy's face, a stark contrast to his red-rimmed eyes. „Armand Douglas Hammer, are you trying to coax me into bed with you by flattery.“

And just like that, the mood changes, going from strained and melancholy to heated in a heartbeat.

„Does it work?“ Armie asks. He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to confront the strange attraction he feels towards his young co-star – who's too skinny, too tall, too smart, too talented, and, above all, too male to be his type. But here they are.

„Might. Try me...“ Timmy mumbles as he climbs into Armie's lap much as Elio has done in one of their scenes.

He presses his face against Armie's neck while his hands start to fumble with his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

„Eager, are we?“ Armie grins but his smile turns predatory when Timmy holds the slim leather belt up and just says: „Tie me up.“

 

An hour later, Timmy might be regretting his words as sweat runs down his flushed body, his tied-up limbs glistening. He might have expected his hands tied behind his back, or getting bound spread-eagled to the bedposts – but not this.

First of all, Armie hadn't used his belt. He had looked intensely at Timmy as he had taken the leather strap from his hand before asking: „Are you sure?“

Timmy had nodded. „You said you would make the last time special. I want you to.“

Armie had cradled Timmy's face in his large hands in reply and kissed him, tenderly, almost chaste, on his lips.

„Undress.“ 

Timmy had shed his clothes so quickly Armie had almost laughed.

„Get on the bed, face down.“

When Timmy had done as he's been told, Armie had just asked him to cross his wrists at the small of his back. The belt had been tight, giving Timmy an idea what he was about to expect. What he didn't expect, however, had been Armie using the cotton shawl with which Timmy had covered the love bites as a blindfold.

„You okay?“ Armie had asked, stroking up one of Timmy's outstretched legs.

Timmy had nodded. Somehow, it hadn't felt right to speak in his position.

„This is just to get you in the mood. I'll be right back.“

The mattress had dipped and a moment later, Timmy had heard the door closing. He'd been alone. Naked, tied up and blindfolded.

Instead of frightening him, sharp arousal had shot through his body. As he imaged house keeping walking in on him, he'd started to writhe against the sheets, his cock swelling, growing hard. He'd never done something like this before but he knew that Armie was into this kind of thing, He'd seen some of his twitter likes and gotten curious.

Well, so far, it turned out very rewarding, Timmy thought as he rubbed his hard cock against the soft cotton, undulating his hips until he could feel a wet spot forming beneath him.

 

Armie knows that one should never, ever leave anyone tied up alone but he just needs a few supplies. Timmy had taken him by surprise but he will be damned if he allows such a chance to pass by. There's a hardware store right on the corner, and it's not that Timmy has been fixated or hog-tied or anything. He could probably wiggle free. His legs aren't tied up either and there are no gags involved. Thinking about this makes Armie's cock twitch and he quickly pulls his shirt out of his trousers to hide his hard-on before stepping into the street.

He buys six meters of orange multi-purpose rope made of polypropylene. It's neither his color nor his material – he prefers black hemp rope, and converting inches into meters hadn't been easy, especially with his non-existent Italian – but he has to make do with what's on offer. On a whim, he also purchases a roll of black bin-liners, a black dog collar and a bottle of Ballistol oil.

He's utterly determined to thoroughly take Timmy apart.

 

A notion that is only reinforced when he returns to their room about 30 minutes after leaving to find Timmy already a squirming mess. God, he forgot that the boy was merely a teenager. He looks his fill for a moment, taking in the muscles in Timmy's back rippling, his protruding shoulder blades and vertebrae, his dark hair already sweaty at the nape, the beautiful small mounds of his arse cheeks, slightly spread to rub himself more firmly against the mattress, and the sheer obscene beauty of it takes his breath away.

Timmy had frozen when he'd heard to door open. “Please, Armie, is that you?” His voice is already deep and soft with arousal.

Armie lets him fret for about ten seconds before answering.

He puts his bag down at the end of the bed and quickly removes the scarf before untying Timmy. 

“Hey, I thought...” Timmy starts to protest but Armie silences him with his index finger pressed to Timmy's lips.

“No talking. This was just the warm up. Are you okay?” That's actually kind of a rhetorical question, judging by the state of Timmy's cock and the bed sheets but Armie still wants to make sure. He has no idea if Timmy has any experience in this field and he doesn't want him to freak out.

When Timmy nods, his eyes large like saucers, Armie removes his finger and tells him: “I want you to use the toilet and to take a shower afterwards. Wash yourself thoroughly. I mean it. Put a finger inside you to clean your arse.” Timmy blushes so profusely that Armie almost has mercy with him. “Use conditioner or something slippery. Don't hurt yourself, be careful. And no jerking off.” Armie looks down at Timmy's straining cock. “I know you are barely twenty and can probably go three times a night but that's not what this is about. Understood?”

Timmy just nods again before he almost runs into the bathroom and locks the door behind himself.

While Timmy showers, Armie sets to work and covers the wooden floor with the black plastic bags. It hadn't been fun cleaning up after last night and he really doesn't want to end another session scrubbing the floor.

When Timmy emerges from the bathroom, he looks a little shocked at the transformation. “Are you a serial killer?” He jokes, but there's concern in his voice underneath the put-on nonchalance.

“Believe me, you'll thank me for this in the end.” Armie smiles at him. “Now, kneel.” Armie points to a spot next to him about two feet away from the somewhat ornate foot end of their metal bed frame. Timmy slowly sinks down, facing the room, feeling a little ridiculous. 

In preparation, Armie has cut the long rope into four smaller parts. “Sorry, this is made from plastic, but it was all I could get. Don't pull it, or you'll hurt yourself. Rope burn.”

Timmy nods but watches nervously, chewing his bottom lip. 

“Listen, if you want to stop now...” Armie starts.

“No.” Timmy shakes his head. “I'm okay. Go on.”

“Spread your arms to the sides.” The rope is too coarse and slippery to try something elegant, so Armie has decided to just tie Timmy's arms and legs up. First, he binds each wrist to one bedpost before tying Timmy's ankles to the feet of the bed frame. Timmy's up on his knees and has to spread his legs while his upper body is arched, pulled slightly back, exposing his chest. His shins on the floor separate Timmy's body from the foot end.

It looks quite uncomfortable and absolutely delicious. For a few minutes, Armie just watches as Timmy tries to find a position that will allow him to cope with the strain. As he discovers that this is futile and that it in fact only increases his inconvenience, he starts to pull at the knots. But Armie knows how to tie someone up.

“If you really want out of this, you should use your safe-word.” Timmy stares up at him craning his neck. His eyes are still huge and his erection hasn't flagged. “Ocean. Repeat it.”

“Ocean.” Timmy answers.

“Good.” Armie takes a step closer. “You look beautiful.” He rakes his fingers through Timmy's hair. “I have something for you.” With that, Armie reaches for the dog collar and puts it around Timmy's neck, the black leather a stark contrast to his pale, still bruised skin.

The gesture seems to do something to Timmy. He stills and casts his eyes down, eventually getting the hang of it.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Armie pays attention to Timmy's nipples, pinching, flicking and finally sucking them until they are both hard and swollen while Timmy's beginning to become incoherent. He moans and gasps, not too loud but wantonly. He can't move much in his position but he still tries to push his hips forward, seeking some friction. Armie moves back and away every time which has Timmy groan in frustration.

“Please...” Timmy whimpers but Armie silences him with a finger to his lips. As Timmy's tongue darts out to suck it into his mouth Armie chuckles against his skin before biting down hard, causing Timmy's whole body to try to recoil. But Armie's teeth hold on.

“You only speak when I ask you something.” He says after releasing Timmy's abused, pink nipple before getting up and walking over to the minibar. He takes out a bottle of San Pellegrino and brings it over to Timmy.

“Open your mouth.”

When Timmy obeys, Armie starts to pour the water down his throat. At the beginning, Timmy's quite thirsty but after about half the bottle is empty he starts to cough, water spilling down his strained, flushed torso.

Armie stops. “Come on, Timmy, you can do that. Make an effort.” Timmy swallows and nods. The rest of the water goes down without resistance. But Timmy's eyes widen when Armie gets another bottle.

“It's important to stay hydrated. Open.”

Timmy tries his best but still can't swallow it all down. More water dribbles down his body as he gulps and gurgles. Breathing becomes hard. He can already feel his stomach filling with cold water.

“One more.” Armie tells him, holding up the third bottle. “I know you can do it, Timmy. Don't make me get a funnel.”

It takes a little longer to drink up this time. At one point, Timmy tries to turn his head away but Armie grabs him by the hair and forces the rest of the water down his throat. Afterwards, Timmy feels full like bursting, almost about to cry.

“Shh,” Armie shushes him. “It's over. You did so well. It's okay. It's over.” He pulls Timmy into a deep kiss before stepping back, admiring Timmy's outstretched, wet body, rivulets running down his strung out pectorals, pooling in the valley between his protruding ribs. His nipples are still hard, as is his cock.

“You know,” Armie says, crouching down in front of Timmy to put one of his large hands onto his swollen belly, just above his pubic bone, “at home, I have a sound. Do you know what that is, Timmy?”

Timmy stares down at his body to where Armie's hand massages his skin and shakes his head. He's already starting to go under.

“It's a thin metal rod, stainless steel, very smooth. You put in your urethra.” The pad of Armie's thumb ghosts over the tip of Timmy's cock, just for a second, and Timmy's whole body spasms at the touch. “You can push it all the way up your cock, right into your bladder. Sometimes, I like that. The feeling is incredible. You can actually fuck your own cock till you come.”

Timmy shivers.

“I'd like to use that on you, when we're back in the States and you come visit. Would you like that?” Timmy isn't sure anymore what he likes but as long as it involves Armie he's probably okay with it. Definitely okay with it. So he nods again, his eyes glazing over as he imagines Armie pushing a silver wand up his cock.

“Wow, you are really getting wet.” Armie tells him and touched his slit again, swiping the precome gathering there. He presses his sticky fingertip to Timmy's mouth and this time he's allowed to suck, tasting himself.

“God, you are lovely like this.”

Timmy smiles around the thumb in his mouth.

Eventually, Armie withdraws his finger, smearing a wet trace up over Timmy's cheekbone before getting up. He looks down at the debauched, needy boy at his feet – bound, flushed and so hard he's started dripping – and lazily palms his own cock through his trousers. 

Suddenly, his clothes feel too tight as his skin starts to tingle, seeking contact. With one swift motion, he pulls his shirt over his head, just like Oliver had done it, then unbuttons his slacks and steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but gray boxer briefs.

Timmy can see the outline of Armie's erection beneath the cotton and licks his lips. He desperately wants to press his face against it, to feel the spongy head on his tongue like last night, swallowing Armie down. He makes a little sound between a gasp and a sigh and Armie grins. 

“As you've been so very good for me, I think you've earned your reward.” Armie lowers himself onto his back and slides between Timmy's spread legs.

“What are you...” Timmy remembers that he isn't allowed to talk and snaps his mouth shut but it's too late. Armie pinches his inner thigh, hard, probably leaving a bruise. Timmy hisses through clenched teeth but knows he can't escape.

“Shh. Just enjoy.”

Timmy swallows around his embarrassment. From where Armie is crouching on his elbows he has an uninhibited view of Timmy's most private parts. True, he has cleaned himself meticulously but still...

He twitches in shock as Armie's tongue touches his body just behind his balls, tasting his skin there, letting the tip of his tongue wander slowly back along Timmy's seam. With a sudden wild panic, Timmy realizes where this is leading and starts to tear at the robe binding him, desperate to escape.

Armie stops.

“You can safeword if you don't want it.” His voice is deep and rough. “But just believe me, it feels amazing. I will make you feel so, so good, Timmy, I promise. Do you really want me to stop?”

Timmy shrugs as best he can. He has his eyes screwed shut, a bright crimson flush spreading down to his navel.

“What is it?” Armie asks.

Timmy needs a moment to take a few deep breaths. “This is so... dirty. I... I'm not sure I want you to do this...” He whispers.

“But I am very sure that _I_ want to do this.” At Armie's honest words, Timmy shakes his head again. 

“Listen, I jerked you off while you pissed on me.” Armie can feel Timmy cringe at his blunt words. “I pushed my finger up your arse. You allowed me to piss into your mouth, and swallowed. Timmy, sex is messy. I don't mind. Let me show this to you. I really want to. If you don't like it, say your safe-word and I promise I stop. But please, don't feel ashamed. I am not, and I'm the one who's going to stick his tongue in your arsehole, so you should be okay with it as well.”

Timmy huffs as he can't suppress a giggle. “Put like that... okay. Just, to try...” He can feel Armie smile against his skin and relaxes a little further.

Then Armie's tongue is back, swiping wetly up Timmy's cleft from perineum to tail bone. Timmy bucks his hips instinctively, clenching a little, and suddenly feels the tip of Armie's tongue very gently circling his opening.

And, _oh god_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to go on a business trip so don't expect the final chapter before the end of the week.


	6. Six For My Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, the last chapter! This starts off a little angsty but I promise you a happy end. The 5+1 might very well be: 5 times they had sex and 1 time they fucked - or (for the intellectuals) 5 times they had sex and 1 time they _talked_ and had sex...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Kiss Off by Violent Femmes

**August 2017 – over a year later**

Timmy is fucking nervous as he waits at JFK airport for the arrival from LA. He plays with the hair tie around his wrist, snapping it rhythmically against his delicate skin to ground himself. It's a trick he'd learned in high school – it's a little odd but it helps.

They hadn't been alone together since Crema. True, they'd met at Sundance and Berlin, and Timmy had stayed at Armie's and Liz's when shooting a film in spring – but they'd always been surrounded by people: publicists, reps, journalists, Armie's friends and family...

Now, Armie's on his way to Toronto to shoot a new film, and in between they'll attend the festival. Rather last-minute, he has decided to stop over in New York, to meet his agent among other things. He's in negotiation for a Broadway play, scheduled for next Summer.

Things have been... strained between them after Crema. Sure, they are great friends and get along well, especially if compared to other on-set friendships – quickly formed, even quicker broken – but...

Despite Armie telling him to continue their … _whatever_ … back home, it hadn't happened. They talked, they called each other, they hugged, and if they looked at each other a little too long after a few drinks, well, they had spend days on end together, naked, in bed, with their tongues down each others throats for that movie, so who would blame them?

But that was all that went on between them. Armie didn't initiate anything and Timmy was just too confused to go after him like he did back in Italy, where they both had operated as if fallen out of time, without restrains, beyond reality, ignoring everything outside their peach scented summer bubble of love.

Timmy doesn't know what holds him back. It just doesn't feel right anymore to sneak into Armie's hotel room or bed. And then there's Armie's very real, very present, very beautiful wife...

Timmy likes Liz. He also wonders if she and Armie do the same things he and Armie had done and that's always the point where his brain short-circuits; because he can't imagine it. He simply can't.

But now they'll have a few days on their own. No press, no appointments, no family – just the two of them.

To be honest, it frightens Timmy.

During filming, they had the next scene, their take on it, crew gossip to talk about. In between the scarce promotion interviews, they had to catch up on each others lives – new kid, new apartment, new projects.

Now they will be together for nearly a week – without any other purpose than being together. It scares the shit out of Timmy.

But then Armie is stepping out through the sliding doors, dragging a trolley at his heels, his blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, and he looks like he did back in Italy – well, his trousers are a little longer but that's the only change.

When he spots Timmy, he smiles, broad and open, and Timmy can't stop himself, he steps forward and almost throws himself against Armie's chest. The hug is firm and lasts longer than appropriate for bros but neither of them cares.

“I would kiss you if I could.” Armie whispers against Timmy's temple, and suddenly, they are back on the cobbled streets of Crema, drunk on cheap wine, their skin itching with sun tan lotion and dried sweat after a long day on set.

“You can. No-one knows me here.” Timmy answers, eyes closed, half-joking, but suddenly Armie's huge hands cup his face like they used to do back last year and then his mouth is on Timmy's, soft but insisting. Timmy shivers, melting into Armie, opening up to him despite the shock.

If this is setting the tone for their week together, he's totally okay with it.

Nobody pays them any attention as they snog like teenagers, their bodies entangled, Armie's luggage forgotten. When they eventually come up for air, they grin a little sheepishly at one another, foreheads pressed together.

“Let's go.” Timmy giggles a little, brushing one dark curl back behind his ear.

“Your hair...,” Armie starts, raking his fingers through Timmy's wild mop. “I like it.”

They don't get a cab, they take the AirTrain and then the subway. It's a welcome transition to be in this kind of semi-public space – no one cares for them but they are not alone either and can acclimatize to one another. They sit close together, their thighs touching, their fingers entwined, just chatting.

Timmy is a little self-conscious when he lets Armie into his new apartment on the Upper East Side. Armie's house is huge, with a pool and a garden... his kitchen is larger than Timmy's whole flat. But at least he tried.

He unpacked most of his boxes. There's a double mattress on the floor of his bedroom, with fresh sheets. The kitchen is stacked... well, at least a bit, with beer and white wine in the fridge. There are clean towels in the tiny bathroom, and he vacuumed the living room, making sure his couch is devoid of pistachio shells.

Still, it's a far cry from Armie's stylish home in California.

With one of his silly grand gestures, Timmy opens the apartment door, steps aside and bows: “All mine.”

“This is nice.” Armie says, strutting over to the windows overlooking Manhattan.

“You don't have to say so.” Timmy tells him. “I know it's nothing special.”

“It's yours.” Armie turns and his serious gaze completely undoes Timmy.

“A drink?” He offers, just to have something to say or do.

“No, thanks, I drank my own body weight in coffee on the flight.”

“You wanna use the bathroom?” Timmy asks. “I actually hope we can fit all of you inside it, now that...”

With two large steps, Armie is standing right in front of him, grabbing his hair and pushing him down onto his knees.

“I think I use you instead.”

All air is leaving Timmy's lungs in a gush as if someone has punched him. He feels like going under. It's been so long, he'd almost forgotten this state of mind. But his body relies on muscle memory. He can feel himself relax and growing hard at the same time as he kneels at Armie's feet, his eyes cast down onto his nondescript gray carpet.

It's a bit of a shuffle and Timmy bumps his hip on the wash basin as Armie drags him into the shower but he doesn't care. He just kneels on the tiles in the small cubicle, still dressed in sneakers, sweatpants and a hoodie and watches Armie unbuckle.

It takes a moment for the hot piss to soak through the thick cotton of his sweatshirt, so Timmy can watch Armie aim for his chest, his fat cock protruding from a nest of golden curls barely visible in the open vee of his jeans. Timmy licks his lips and slides just a little closer. This changes the angle of Armie's spurt, hitting Timmy's throat and running down his neck, seeping inside his hoodie. He moans as the warm liquid splashes onto his skin.

Armie hadn't lied, he must have downed a lot of coffee, judging by the amount of piss squirting from his cock. Soon, Timmy is positively drenched, sitting in a pool of lukewarm urine. His clothes stick to his lean body, warm and soft, his sweatpants clinging to his thighs while his wet sweatshirt hugs his torso tight. He's getting even harder and palms his damp crotch with fingers dripping with piss while Armie guides his stream right there, gushing over Timmy's hand as he rubs himself.

“Oh god,” he moans, almost shocked by the intensity of his orgasm as he comes a few moments later like a horny teenager, soiling his pants even further. 

“Did you just...?” Armie chuckles and Timmy wants to slump down and hide his face but Armie grabs his hair again and pulls him forward, shoving his cock into Timmy's slightly open mouth. His jaw is slack and he shudders a little as the last few drops of Armie's release run down his throat, tasting sharp and bitter. He suddenly remembers Crema; the clothes Armie bought him there are still sitting at the back of his wardrobe, stuffed in a Famila superstore plastic bag. He's not sure how often he masturbated wearing them since Italy but there's now a run in the stockings...

“That's it, clean it all up...,” Armie holds his head firmly in place, his large hand cupping the back of Timmy's skull as he grunts and sucks, his freckled nose buried in Armie's pubes. He smells of soap, and Californian sun, and stale airplane, and sweat, and decidedly male musk, and Armie, and Timmy almost chokes as he tries to take him impossibly deeper.

Despite laughing at Timmy's rather premature ejaculation, it's not that Armie is in much better shape. It's been so long since they did something like this... He stiffens quickly in Timmy's mouth at the sight of the filthy boy on his knees in front of him, giving him head, eager yet messy, squatting in his rapidly cooling piss.

“You like that, sucking my cock clean like the good little toilet slut you are.” Armie's voice is a deep rumble and Timmy can only give a rather curt nod, saliva starting to drip down his chin.

Armie moans his name once, lewd and raspy, when Timmy's tongue starts to massage the underside of his shaft. It only takes about a minute afterwards for Armie to swell, pulsing hot come down Timmy's throat, who swallows and swallows until he's sure he's done a good job. When Armie pulls out and releases him with a sigh, Timmy suckles his tip for a second, straining his neck, before Armie sinks down onto the toilet seat, his legs too shaky to keep standing.

“That was...,” he starts, holding his face in his hands.

Timmy sits back on his heels and waits. He starts to shiver a little in his wet clothes. A sharp, acrid smell quickly fills the tiny bathroom. He must reek like a pissoir but somehow that thought turns him on instead of repelling him.

“That was what _I_ needed.” Timmy finishes, grinning.

Armie outright beams back at him, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I missed this. You... like this. God, I hope... are you all right? I wasn't to rough?”

Timmy laughs, clear and pearly, showing his white teeth as he throws his head back. “I'm fine. I just...” He pulls at his hoodie and Armie is suddenly on his knees as well, helping him to get out of his damp garments.

They shower together, grab two beers, then crawl into bed.

“I brought a few things.” Armie tells Timmy as they sit under the duvet, side by side, leaning against the barren wall of Timmy's bedroom, their shoulders bumping. “I remembered I promised to show you some toys, back in Italy, but somehow it never came to that.”

Timmy is torn between his curiosity and a sudden need to talk, to address the hollow void that seems to have opened up between them over the last fourteen month. But Armie beats him to it.

“I... I think we should talk about us.”

Timmy nods. His mouth is suddenly dry but as he takes a sip of his Beck's it bubbles over, flooding his mouth. He coughs and splutters, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and Armie laughs and shakes his head.

“God, you are such a lightweight.” But it's fond, playful, teasing and Timmy suddenly knows that he won't survive if Armie ends whatever is between them.

“Is this how you say good-bye?” Timmy jumps right in; better get it over with quickly.

“What?” Armie turns to him, startled.

Timmy makes a vague gesture between them, clutching his beer in his other hand. “Now you tell me that you are married with children and that you respect your wife and that this was some last pity fuck...”

“We never fucked.” Armie says it as if he regrets it.

“No, but that's not exactly the point, is it?” Timmy hates how bitter he sounds but he can't help it.

Armie stares at him, intensely. Timmy starts to fidget under his gaze, plucking nervously at the threadbare comforter covering them. When Armie speaks, he braces himself for the final blow.

“Yes, I am married. Of course, I respect my wife. But that doesn't mean... why do you think I came here?”

Timmy winces. This conversation is physically painful to him. “To tell me it's over.” It's not a question.

“God, you are so wrong.” Armie simply gathers him in his arms, holding him tight. His chin rests on the crown of Timmy's head as he continues. “This past year... seeing you on and off... but being unable to do... _this_...,” Timmy can feel Armie swallowing, “it almost broke me.”

Timmy claws at his back, spidery finger digging into firm, tanned muscle.

“I have no idea how we can make this work but we somehow have to. I'm not... I'm not giving you up, okay?” Armie might be crying but Timmy doesn't have the strength to look him in the face right now. He just presses his forehead into the crook of Armie's neck and tries to keep breathing.

They stay like this for a long while as the New York sky darkens outside. Eventually, Timmy shifts a little, pressing a small kiss to Armie's collarbone. The spell is broken and they come apart, looking both a bit bleary but somehow content as well.

“About those toys...” Timmy starts, blushing all over.

“They are in my suitcase. Care to take a peak?”

\----------

An hour later, Timmy's nicely bundled up on the bed: his thighs and calves are bound together with soft black hemp rope, cutting into his skin just enough to leave delicious rope marks winding around his limbs. His chest rests upon his thighs as his arms have been bound to each bend leg. His strained back is heaving, sweaty, ribs and vertebrae protruding, his white skin flushed pink down to the delicate swell of his arse.

He's totally open like this, his legs held apart, spread by the ropework. His face is turned to one side, hot and glistening with sweat, as he tries to breathe while Armie plays with his exposed hole. He's been using a long, veined vibrator on him for some time and Timmy is almost incoherent by now.

Armie had started very gentle, fingering him with lots of lube before pressing the blunt round head of the toy against Timmy's sphincter.

“Okay?”

Timmy had sighed and pressed back a little, as much as his circumstances allowed, but Armie had stilled his movement with a hand pressed to his buttock.

“Don't. Let me...”

The toy had easily breached him, but when Armie had pushed it in deeper, Timmy's body had rebelled against the unfamiliar intrusion. He'd clenched, his abdominal muscles tensing.

“Stop.” He'd whispered, and Armie had stopped and waited until Timmy had been able to relax again, massaging the small of his back and telling him how incredible he was and how beautiful he looked.

Armie had been so very careful, taking his time, kissing Timmy's back, licking down his spine until he'd reduced him to a puddle of want, moaning softly into the sheets. The dildo slid deeper and deeper inside Timmy and when he'd finally been able to move the toy easily in and out, Armie had turned it on.

Now, the dildo is buzzing inside Timmy, who's gasping, begging, writhing as the toy destroys him completely, relentlessly massaging his prostate. He's never been harder in his life, his trapped cock leaking between his stomach and thighs.

He can hear Armie fist himself behind him and he wants, god, he wants... him, his cock, taking him, coming inside him, wrecking him, tearing him apart. He might be telling Armie as much but he's not sure, there are sounds escaping his mouth but he's long lost the ability to string together coherent sentences. He's surrendering completely, tied up, spread open, exposed, used.

Through the fog of his want he eventually hears Armie say: “I'm going to fuck you now, Timmy.”

“Yes... please... yes.”

The toy is removed and Timmy feels empty, hollow, but then the wet head of Armie's cock nudges his entrance, sliding in easily. Timmy realizes that he's not using a condom and he knows that should worry him but he can't remember why as Armie pushes in deeper.

He's never done this before. It doesn't hurt, it just feels amazing. He'd wondered, when he prepared for the movie, how anal sex would be, but never got any further with anyone than playing some rather innocent games.

Now, Armie's huge cock is pressing inside him and he can't get enough of it. When he can feel Armie's balls slap against his perineum, he gasps, clenching around the hot, hard flesh filling him. Armie strokes his back, his sides, lets his fingertips brush over the ropes holding Timmy down and in place, showering him in praise, not moving, just cherishing what's offered to him.

“You are so gorgeous, so open, so lovely... god, Timmy...”

Timmy's afraid that Armie might say those dreaded words, then, but he doesn't; he just starts to thrust, very shallow, gently, only speeding up when Timmy starts to moan and pant, begging for more, faster, harder. Armie bottoms out, then pulls almost all the way out, again and again, hitting Timmy prostate in a maddening rhythm, his fingers digging into Timmy's bony hips.

After all the foreplay, it doesn't take long for Timmy to come again. His second orgasm this day is drawn out, almost devastatingly intense, and he might have shouted Armie's name, sobbing into his pillow.

Armie speeds up as Timmy shudders beneath him, brutally fucking him, all restraint gone. It might hurt a little but Timmy is floating on endorphins and doesn't care. His cock gives another jerk as he feels Armie suddenly still and pulse, leaving something of himself deep inside Timmy's body.

Armie slumps down for a moment over Timmy's back, holding him, before quickly pulling out. Timmy wants to protest, wants to keep him a little while longer inside himself, stay connected in this carnal embrace, but he can't force his mouth to form the words. He might have made a sound, though, because Armie's hand is stroking his face – it's wet, is he crying? - as he mumbles something that Timmy doesn't catch. As a blunt object presses against his hole and slides in, Timmy shivers but doesn't protest.

Armie lies down beside him, pulling the blanket over both of them before hugging Timmy as tight as possible in this position. He's still tied up and grateful for it. It grounds him.

“You okay?” Armie asks after a moment.

“Y-yes.” Timmy croaks, his voice hoarse. Armie stares into his eyes, kisses his face and brushes back his long, damp curls, watching over him as Timmy slowly comes down.

“I came inside you.” He mumbles, softly, amazed, smiling, his eyes shining and very blue.

“We have to... to talk about that.” Timmy whispers but there's no anger in his voice.

“I know.” Armie says, but he's not sorry, that much Timmy can tell. “Thank you for giving me that. For allowing me to be your first.”

Timmy's smile is dopey, like the cat that got all the cream.

“I put a plug up your arse, to keep my come inside you. I hope you don't mind that either.”

Timmy snorts a laugh and wriggles his bum. He doesn't mind at all.

“Can you still feel your hands?” Armie asks.

“Yes. I'm all right. Everything is all right.”

“I can untie you if you want.” Armie offers.

“Later.” Timmy replies, and that's when they both lose it a little.

\----------

_Later_ turns out to be the middle of the night. The plug feels a little strange as they stand in Timmy's tiny kitchen, picking fries from containers Armie had gotten from the burger place at the corner. Timmy's still naked and Armie admires his rope marks, staring at him almost as hungry as he does at his food – which Timmy takes as the highest compliment his... _boyfriend_... might be capable off.

“When we are finished here, I remove the plug and eat you out.” Armie tells him between two bites, and Timmy comes a third time a little later as Armie stays true to his word.

_Later_ turns out to be Toronto. London. New York.

_Later_ turns out to be Europe in January.

_Later_ turns out to be New York again during next summer...

Timmy knows that they are on borrowed time, but he also knows that everybody is.

And if _later_ is all they'll have, it's good enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Hit me up on tumblr if you like!


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